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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23731123">You Call My Name But I'm Already Gone</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/KassandraScarlett/pseuds/KassandraScarlett'>KassandraScarlett</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse (Supernatural), Angst, F/M, Gen, Lucifer Possessing Sam Winchester, M/M, Post-Episode: s05e03 Free to Be You and Me, Rating May Change, Sad Ending, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Tags May Change</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:41:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,840</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23731123</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/KassandraScarlett/pseuds/KassandraScarlett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He couldn't die. Running was useless. Dean didn't want anything to do with him. </p>
<p>Fine, then. Sam would do the best he could and he would do it alone without his brother. </p>
<p>First step: disappear.</p>
<p>Or:</p>
<p>Dean says, <em>Pick a hemisphere. </em></p>
<p>So Sam goes it alone.</p>
<p>In the end, it's the devil who wins.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel &amp; Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester &amp; Sam Winchester, Lucifer/Michael (Supernatural), Meg Masters/Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>86</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is the sequence of events that would have led to the future we see in The End. What makes Sam say 'yes'. Why he and Dean never talk after that phone call. The works.</p>
<p>It is not necessary to read the first part of this series to understand this one.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>  <em>We’re not stronger together, Sam. </em></p>
<p>
  <em>  I was dead the second we said ‘hello’. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>  I think we’re weaker. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>  We’re a part of each other, Sam, two halves made whole. MFEO, literally. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>  Baby, the people closest to you die. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>  I think we should stay away from each other. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>  I’ll just bring you back each time. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>  Pick a hemisphere. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>  You’re my true vessel, Sam. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>  Bye, Sam.</em>
</p>
<p>  The curtains were drawn tightly, not a sliver of sunlight able to enter the room, leaving it in a dark, dreamy gloom. Yet the knife gleamed ominously. The hands of the man who held it were graceful, capable, with long fingers that spoke of gentle strength. But right now they were clenched, in fear and anger and grief.</p>
<p>  Sam Winchester looked at his reflection and tried to pretend he didn’t see a shadow of the Devil in his eyes.</p>
<p>  He tried to think of a reason to live, but couldn’t find any. His brother wanted nothing to do with him. Almost everyone else he’d ever loved was dead. He had set the world on the path to destruction.</p>
<p>  There was nothing left. With a last hateful glare to himself, he brought the blade up to his throat.</p>
<p>  Nobody barged in through the door to give him pause. No green-eyed hero rushed in to stop him. Nobody cared.</p>
<p>  The knife moved, drawing blood in a swift line, and Sam crumpled to the floor.</p>
<p>  For a few long minutes, his corpse lay on the floor, still warm, blood still running.</p>
<p>  Nobody was present to watch the miracle occur, but occur it did.</p>
<p>  Skin knitted together. Wound closed. Blood cleansed away.</p>
<p>  A heart restarted, steady and strong.</p>
<p>  Chest filled with breath.</p>
<p>  Sam woke with a loud gasp and a sinking feeling of disappointment.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>  Sam stared down at the demon blankly. It was in the vessel of a young man- blonde, athletic body, twenty-something. It was unconscious. </p>
<p>  Sam fidgeted, fingering the long curved blade in his hand. It was the only weapon he’d brought with himself, along with his Taurus. He couldn’t kill the demon without Ruby’s knife and Dean had kept that one with himself. He had to exorcise it. </p>
<p>  With a deep breath, he held up his arm, palm facing outwards. Ruby’s lessons stuck in his mind, he tried to focus the way she used to tell him to, imagining invisible fingers reaching out towards the vessel, flying past the flesh and blood to find the corrupted soul within. </p>
<p>  That part was easy. He’d gotten this far long ago without the demon blood. He could feel electricity gathering at the top of his spine and the tips of his fingers seemed to burn the closer and closer he got to the demon. </p>
<p>  But the second he touched the soul, pain flashed through his mind. His knees buckled and he dropped, one hand pressed to his head and the other still outstretched. </p>
<p>  Still, he kept on. The demon woke, began to struggle, both on a physical and mental plane. Sam started to gasp, trying to keep his hold, trying to pull and send it back to Hell. </p>
<p>  His eyes closed, white-hot light searing across his temples. Was he yelling? His hand dropped like lead. “<em>Exorcizamus te, omnis imundus…</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>  He called Rufus finally, knowing that the old grouch would keep their conversation a secret. As much as Sam loved Bobby, he knew there was a large possibility that he would tell Dean. </p>
<p>  “<em>What do ya want?!</em>” Rufus barked. </p>
<p>  Sam flinched at the outburst. “Uh, hey, Rufus, it’s Sam. Sam Winchester.”</p>
<p>  “<em>That ain’t what I’m asking. What do ya want?</em>” </p>
<p>  Sam sighed, leaning on the railing of the pier. “Do you have any safe house where I can hole up for a few days? I need to make a bunch of new identities, stash up on weapons and stuff…”</p>
<p>  “<em>Where’s all your stuff at?”</em></p>
<p>  “With my brot- with Dean,” Sam said.</p>
<p>  “<em>Where’s Dean at?</em>”</p>
<p>  “I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “I'm not… We're not riding together right now. And I left in a hurry.” <em>Not entirely by choice</em>, he thought and immediately, guilt filled him. Choice or not, this was all his own fault. </p>
<p>  Rufus was silent for a few seconds. “<em>There’s a cabin in Montana. I'll text you the address. You’ll find everything ya need there.”</em></p>
<p>  Sam breathed deeply in relief. “Thanks, Rufus. And, um… Could you not tell Bobby about this, please? Or anyone else?”</p>
<p>  Rufus snorted derisively. “<em>Relax, kid, I’m gonna forget all about this call after a few minutes</em>,” he assured. “<em>But you watch your back, ya hearin' me? You ain’t got someone watchin' it for ya anymore</em>.”</p>
<p>  The reminder only served to make it harder to breath in. “Thanks, Rufus.” He ended the call, resisting the urge to chuck the phone into the water. That would come later. </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>  Cas arrived soon enough, thankfully. He was berating them for being foolish and careless, but Dean just tuned him out as the angel undid whatever magic the witch had done on him and Bobby. </p>
<p>  Damn, it was a relief not to be old anymore. </p>
<p>  “Yeah, thanks, Cas,” Bobby said, genuine gratitude in his gruff voice. “We did go in there half-cocked.”</p>
<p>  “Yeah,” Dean sighed. “Guy was too good to be hustled even by us.” It was a blow to his pride to admit it, but the only magic involved had been Patrick himself, not the poker chips. </p>
<p>  Meanwhile, Cas was looking around the room with a frown. “Dean, Bobby,” he said solemnly. “Where is Sam?”</p>
<p>  There was a brief silence as Bobby stared at Dean, unrelenting. </p>
<p>  Dean swallowed. “He’s off on his own somewhere. Working at a bar or something, in Oklahoma. Or he’s back in the game, maybe, I don’t know.”</p>
<p>  Bobby shook his head. “He’s not hunting, I know that for sure.”</p>
<p>  Dean turned to him curiously.</p>
<p>  “He called me. Four days ago, at most. Told me there were demonic omens in the next town and I should send some hunters to take care of it.”</p>
<p>  Dean turned away, a little hurt that Sam hadn’t called him. Then again, when he had, Dean had turned him down. “So, did you?”</p>
<p>  Bobby shrugged. “Yeah, Tom and his friends. Nobody called me back so I assume it went fine.”</p>
<p>  Dean picked at his nail. There was a little nugget of worry in his stomach that he tried to let go of. </p>
<p>  “Just call him, ya idjit,” Bobby sighed. </p>
<p>  Dean straightened, shaking his head. “It’s fine. I talked to him two nights ago. If he needs to say something, he’ll call.”</p>
<p>  “And what if you have something you would like to say to him?” Cas asked in his usual slow voice. </p>
<p>  Dean faked a bright grin. “Who, me? Nah, I got nothing.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>  Black smoke whipped and whirled around the chair legs, frantic as Sam held them in his grasp. His hand was outstretched, the pain reduced from sharp stings to a dull throb in his temples. In his mind’s eye, he was digging his fingers into the meatsuit, into the sternum, finding the demon nestled inside.</p>
<p>  <em>Go to Hell</em>, he thought at it. <em>Go. To. Hell. It’s where you belong, you bastard.</em></p>
<p>  And with a final push, it was gone. The air cleared. Sam let his arm drop and took a second to breathe deeply. He raised a weary hand to massage his head, to dab at the thin trickle of blood smeared between his nose and upper lip. Fuck, this hurt without the demon blood.</p>
<p>  He’d almost given in too. The demon had smirked up at him, tilting her head to the side and exposing her tanned neck like an offering. Sam’s hand had twitched, wanting to slice into the delicate skin and drink.</p>
<p>  But Dean’s frown was superimposed on the backs of his eyelids and he’d started in on the torture instead, trying to get information on Lucifer.</p>
<p>  Thankfully, the Devil’s nightly visits had dwindled down to once a week.</p>
<p>  Sam, on unsteady feet, walked towards the girl and knelt next to her. She was young, pretty- and Sam hated almost everything in the world when he couldn’t find a pulse. He dropped his forehead to the arm rest, feeling the wood scrub roughly.</p>
<p>  “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, guilt-ridden and remorseful.</p>
<hr/>
<p>  Dean had dropped by for a visit. He was doing that more often nowadays. Bobby hadn’t pointed it out, knowing that without the only constant companion the boy had known all his life, he was lonely now. And as worried as Bobby was about Sam, he consoled himself with the fact that he was out of the life, more or less.</p>
<p>  No sooner than he’d had the thought, his phone rang.</p>
<p>  One look at the caller ID and Bobby didn’t waste a single second in answering.</p>
<p>  “Sam?” He asked, wondering why he was calling him instead of Dean.</p>
<p>  “<em>Hey, Bobby</em>.” Sam’s voice was quiet, sad.</p>
<p>  Bobby sighed. “Boy, you better have a good explanation for not calling earlier.”</p>
<p>  There was the sound of shallow breathing for a few seconds. “<em>Sorry</em>,” came the reply. “<em>I just... Um, about the hunters you sent to help me- one of ‘em died. Tim and Reggie are okay, though.</em>”</p>
<p>  Bobby took a drink of the whiskey. “Sam, that was weeks ago.”</p>
<p>  “<em>Yeah, I know, I</em>-”</p>
<p>  “So, why are you calling now?” Bobby questioned. “Not that it ain’t great to hear from ya, but none of us are really the social call kinda person. So, what’s it?”</p>
<p>  There was another brief silence.</p>
<p>  Bobby suddenly felt a sense of trepidation. “Sam, hold on, lemme get Dean for ya-”</p>
<p>  “<em>No</em>!” Sam exclaimed, panic rife in his words. “<em>No, Bobby, don't, I can't- I can't talk to Dean. Please</em>.”</p>
<p>  “Sam, ya idjit, whatever you're thinking of doing-”</p>
<p>  “<em>Just the right thing</em>,” Sam was quick to assure. “<em>Nothing stupid, Bobby, I swear it. Just... I can't talk to Dean</em>.”</p>
<p>  “Why the fuck not?” Bobby demanded.</p>
<p>  Sam took a second to answer. “<em>Just tell him I love him</em>,” he said softly. “<em>And that I'm sorry. Please. And I love you too, Bobby. You've always been like a dad to me. Thanks for that.</em>”</p>
<p>  “Sam, boy, listen here-”</p>
<p>  “<em>I gotta go. Don't look for me, Bobby. You won't find me.</em>”</p>
<p>  “Sam-”</p>
<p>  The line went dead. Bobby dropped the phone, unable to process the conversation he’d just had. He was pretty sure that had been Sam's goodbye. His final goodbye.</p>
<p>  Jesus, what was he gonna tell Dean?</p>
<p>  Right on cue, Dean walked in, covered in sweat and grease from working on the cars. “What's up, Bobby?” He called, getting a beer from the fridge. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He snickered at his own joke though the sound clearly lacked any real joy.</p>
<p>  <em>No, I just talked to a ghost</em>, Bobby thought. “Dean...” He started softly.</p>
<p>  Dean looked at him, beer halfway to his mouth. He raised am eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”</p>
<p>  Bobby looked back sadly, a little desperately. “Sam called.”</p>
<p>  Predictably, Dean froze for a brief second, then took a sip of the beer. “And?” He asked. Casual. Nonchalant. Uncaring. It did nothing to hide the hurt and longing.</p>
<p>  “Dean, I think you should call him. Now.”</p>
<p>  Dean scoffed, shaking his head. “Why, so I can beg him to come back? I don’t think so. He made his choice.”</p>
<p>  “Dean, he called me to say goodbye!” Bobby yelled.</p>
<p>  Dean froze again. But this time, he paled. “What the hell?” He demanded, voice hoarse. “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>  “He said goodbye, he told me to tell you he loves you, told me he loves <em>me</em> and then said we shouldn’t look for him because we’d never find him this time.” Bobby’s voice was getting louder and louder as he spoke. “So stop wasting time and call the idjit before it's too late, you damn fool!”</p>
<hr/>
<p>  Sam didn't waste time. Leaning against the railing of the pier, he made quick work of dismantling all of his old phones. With his subtly increased strength, he broke the devices in jagged halves and tossed them into the water below him. All his old false IDs followed the same path. No more rock star aliases. No more of anything that would lead Dean to him.</p>
<p>  Sam watched the river wash his old life away. He could almost imagine the conversation Dean and Bobby must be having now. Would Dean try to call him? </p>
<p>  Sam wouldn’t ever know. And now, he couldn't have answered anyway. </p>
<p>  It didn't feel freeing. If anything, Sam wanted nothing more than to run back to Sioux Falls, back to Dean. But Dean had been right- they had better chances apart.</p>
<p>  Sam turned away, ignoring the ache in his heart. He had a demon to find.</p>
<hr/>
<p>  <em>This number is out of service</em>.</p>
<p>  Dean dialed again.</p>
<p>  <em>This number is out of service. </em></p>
<p>  And again.</p>
<p>  <em>This number is out of service. </em></p>
<p>  And again.</p>
<p>  <em>This number is out of service. </em></p>
<p>  Dean didn't stop until he'd drank his whole beer. When he finally gave up, there was a pit in his stomach and a voice in his head saying, <em>You know you deserve this.</em> It sounded a lot like Zachariah.</p>
<p>  Dean stared at the phone, tried to will Sam into calling him.</p>
<p>  But why would he? Dean had been the one to push him away, after all.</p>
<p> <em>Pick a hemisphere</em>, he'd said. Fuck, what had he been thinking? And Sam chose <em>now</em> to listen to him? After having spent his whole life rebelling? Really?</p>
<p>  Dean opened another beer. Numbness would be better than this aching twist of his heart.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please see change in pairing tags.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>  In the end, <em>she</em> found <em>him</em>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam had stopped at a breakfast dinner. He’d been travelling non-stop for long enough that he was confident he’d thrown off any misguided attempts Dean might have made to find him. He had the angel sigils on his ribs, so Cas couldn’t find him either. And he could handle demons. Hell, he was practically looking for them. So, yeah, he could afford to sit down in a booth and eat in less than moderate comfort for once, rather than stay cramped in the car. Hopefully, he could have breakfast in peace.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Of course, as soon as he took a single bite of his pancakes, a woman appeared to stand beside him. The whiff of sulphur alerted Sam before he even looked up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Heya, Sammy,” she smiled down at him, lecherous and wicked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam took in the pale skin and dark hair, eyes flickering black and mouth set in a smirk. It was a vessel he’d only seen once before but the demon wearing it was easy to recognize. “Meg,” he greeted flatly, itching to reach for the flask of holy water inside his jacket.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  She clicked her tongue. “Ask me to eat with you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam just took a second bite, keeping eye contact with her and not saying a word.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Meg raised a pencilled eyebrow and sat down anyway. “Didn’t daddy dearest teach you manners?” She paused. “Oh no, that’s right, he didn’t. He was too busy raising a pair of perfect little soldiers instead.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “How did you find me?” Sam asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  She gave him a condescending look. “Did your time with Ruby erode your brain?” She demanded. “I don’t like my men dumb.” She leaned back in her seat. “If you start rounding up a very large fraction of all the demons in the midwest and send them back to Hell one after the other, the higher-ups are bound to take notice. Lucky for you, the higher-up in question was yours truly. Now you can imagine my surprise when one of those baby black-smokes said that you were asking for little ol’ me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam cast a look around, gripping his fork tightly. He couldn’t sense any other demons in the diner, but he hadn't sensed Meg until she’d stood right next to him either. She was stronger than most, obviously. “Where’s your entourage?” He asked. “Or is Lucifer upset that you failed last time and decided to make you work alone?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Meg scowled faintly for a second, then her face cleared. “Where’s your guard dog?” She asked. “Or did Dean finally decide he was too sickeningly righteous to stick around with you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Her words hit Sam to the core. They weren’t true- not exactly. And yet… “Other way around,” he managed to lie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  The look on her face made him think she didn’t believe him. “Well, colour me intrigued, Sammy,” she started.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Call me that and I’ll gut you,” Sam snapped. The nickname grated, the memory of Ruby’s voice overlaid with Dean’s. It felt tarnished and ill-fitting. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sammy </span>
  </em>
  <span>was a giggling baby, a chubby pre-teen, a sulky teenager, an over-confident twenty-two year old. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sammy </span>
  </em>
  <span>was Dean’s little brother, the one who could never have done any wrong in his big brother’s eyes, the literal center of Dean’s world. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sammy </span>
  </em>
  <span>didn’t exist anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Meg had a perfect poker face. "Alright," she conceded, like she didn't really care. "So." She cocked her head to the side. "You wanted to see me. You got me. Now why should I do something other than drag you to the King?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  "Because I have a different proposition." Sam took a deep breath. This had to be the riskiest thing he'd ever done. But he needed an inside eye. And if Ruby could fool everyone for over a year, then Sam, with his advantage over demons, should be able to do it too. "I want to put Lucifer back in the Cage and I want your help doing it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  It was crazy enough that Meg's mouth fell open, her eyes going wide and the black flickering for a second before settling on brown. "What?" She asked, incredulous. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam didn't answer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  "You can’t possibly be serious,” she accused. She laughed. “What makes you think I’d want to help you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  He raised an eyebrow. “Because your father was Azazel. And Azazel wanted me to take the throne.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Meg mirrored the action. “And you think now is a good time to do it? You had your chance and you gave it up. You can’t change your mind now when it is literally impossible.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Why not?” He challenged.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Because, firstly, you can’t match up to Lucifer in power. Whether you chug down demon blood or flip the switch- if you try to face off with Lucifer, a literal Archangel, you will lose.” She held up two fingers. “Secondly, even if you could figure out a way to take over, you aren’t going to find any demons willing to support your rule against his.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “I don’t want to take over,” Sam hissed. “I just don’t want the fucking Devil to. I want to stuff him back where he belongs. After that…” He barked out a short laugh. “You can take over, for all I care.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  It was the incentive she needed. Meg perked up, almost imperceptibly. She leaned forward on her elbows. “Go on,” she drawled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam sighed. “Look, if there was a way to spring the box open and let him out, there’s gotta be a way to put him back in again. Help me do that- or better yet, kill him- and, since I am obviously not interested, you will be free to rule Hell afterwards. And, being Azazel’s daughter, I don’t think you’d have much competition. Besides,” he spoke softly now. “Do you really want Lucifer to run this world? I know you’re a demon and you guys aren't the biggest fans of God, but there was a reason He locked the guy up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Yeah, because he corrupted the humans and then the few angels who fell with him. I know the story.” She sounded bored.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “He made <em>demons</em>,” Sam emphasised. “Which led to his imprisonment. Why do you think he feels anything but resentment and hatred towards your kind?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Meg didn’t answer, but her gaze turned a little angry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam went on. “You once told me you do the things you do for family, for your dad. But Lucifer doesn’t care about any of that. You know he doesn’t. He’s only using you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “And you’re practically a saint, aren’t ya, Mother Teresa?” She sniped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam shrugged. “Of course, not. But you loved your father. And your father said I was his favourite contender. That pretty much makes us family, don’t you think?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  She stiffened suddenly, some strange emotion flashing across her face. It was gone too fast to decipher, but Sam knew he'd said the right thing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  He stood from his seat before she found her tongue. "Think it over. You'll find me if you decide to help. And if you decide not to…" He sighed. "I'll understand. But for old times' sake, don't go running to Lucifer to tell on me, please."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  He walked away, resisting the urge to look back. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>  Dean rubbed his eyes tiredly. It had been almost a month since Bobby had received the phone call from Sam. One month and they were no closer to finding him than thirty days ago. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean thought about that day a lot. He'd come to Sioux Falls after a case intending to recharge his batteries. He'd offered to work on some cars. When he'd walked back inside the house, Bobby had been holding the phone and looking shell-shocked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Why hadn't Sam called Dean? Or, at least, why hadn't he asked Bobby to let Dean on the phone? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  A niggling voice in the back of Dean's mind reminded him that Sam had called him once before. And Dean had told him to stay away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean focused on the screen of his phone again. It was a text from Bobby, the contact info for Timothy Pride. One of the hunters Bobby had sent to help Sam in Colorado. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Apparently, Tim wasn't answering Bobby's calls for some reason. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Dean gripped the phone tightly for a second. He didn't know what he would do if this lead didn't pan out either. With a deep breath, he dialled the number. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> Dean spotted Tim as soon as he entered the diner. The slightly older hunter was tucked into a corner booth, hunched a bit with the same weariness that was shared by every hunter. Dean slid in opposite him.</p>
<p>  “Tim,” he greeted.</p>
<p>  The other man straightened and tensed. “Dean Winchester?” He raked his eyes up and down. “Been a while.”</p>
<p>  “Sure has,” Dean agreed. “Listen, Bobby tells me you worked a job with Sam.” He raised an eyebrow. “None of ya ever followed up. What happened?”</p>
<p>  Tim snorted. “Wasn’t so much ‘<em>with</em>’ him as it was ‘<em>for</em>’ him. Bastard refused to come with. Lost one of my best friends that night, ‘cause of it. And I know he’s your brother and all, so maybe you got some familial guilt, but you did good to cut loose and ditch him, I’ll tell ya.”</p>
<p>  Dean felt a sickening sense of anticipation. “Why do you say that?”</p>
<p>  “Oh, come on, Dean, you gotta know word will have gotten out.” Tim gave him a skeptic look. “Almost every hunter out there knows your little brother went on a blood bender. Demon blood, no less. Worse than a vampire, that one is."</p>
<p>  Blood rushed in Dean's ear, drowning out everything but Tim's words. "How… How did the word get out?" He asked, choking on the words. </p>
<p>  "Reggie and I thought it best if people knew, ya know?" Tim shrugged. </p>
<p>  Dean licked his lips, tried to swallow past the dryness in his throat. "How did you guys find out?"</p>
<p>  "That night, turned out there were a lot more demons than we expected. One if 'em killed my best friend. We managed to capture one." A dark look came over his face. "She told us, while we were tryna get information out of her."</p>
<p>  "And you believed her? Just like that?" There was something very wrong with this. </p>
<p>  Tim sighed. "Nah, man. We took some of her blood. Brought it back to your brother, tried to get him to drink. Things got a little… Rough. No permanent damage done, but we parted on unfriendly terms." He shook his head. "Gotta say, it's good that John ain't here to see this."</p>
<p>  Dean could read between the lines just fine. A lifetime spent deciphering Sam's complex words and significant silences had taught him. </p>
<p>  Tim and Reggie had fought with Sam- rough and ugly. And despite the odds, they'd come out badly which was why Tim had only given him a cliff notes version. </p>
<p>  Dean closed his eyes for a second. He pictured Sam, somewhere in a bar like this, late at night- bleeding nose and heaving chest- staring down people who were trying to kill him. </p>
<p>  When he looked at Tim again, Dean felt calm. He fingered the Colt tucked into his waistband. "You got a motel? I'm thinking of staying the night."</p>
<p>  Tim nodded, blissfully unaware of his impending doom. "Yeah. Think the room next to mine is empty. Got some beer too if you wanna get drunk."</p>
<p>  Dean nodded. "Yeah, sure, man. Let's do that."</p>
<hr/>
<p>  Sam figured, as long as he wasn’t chasing leads on demon cases, he might as well hunt regular monsters.</p>
<p>  The thought had made him smirk to himself. A few years ago, he’d lamented to Dean that he missed conversations that weren’t about wendigos or shtrigas or whatnot. And now, he would give almost anything to forget about the Apocalypse and angels and demons and go back to those run-of-the-mill cases.</p>
<p>  This case had been a werewolf. Normally, he wouldn't have risked taking it on by himself, but… This wasn't normal times. And he wasn't normal. Ergo, normal rules didn't apply.</p>
<p>  Now, after three suspects, two witnesses and one very nosy cop, Sam was lying on the linoleum floor of an upstate apartment, bleeding out. There was a hole in his chest, his heart punctured, but still in its proper place. He’d killed the wolf before it had gotten to its meal.</p>
<p>  That didn’t change the fact that he was dying. Slowly. Painfully.</p>
<p>  His vision was blurring. He could feel the weight of his gun in his hand. There were still bullets left- he could quicken his own demise, make it quick and easy instead of this crawling doom. But he was too tired, too drained of blood, to muster up the energy of moving his hand. And Lucifer was obviously too sadistic to not let him die first before lifting a finger.</p>
<p>  So Sam lay there, staring at the lime-green kitchen cabinets and comparing it to the pair of eyes that haunted his dreams at night. He wondered if Dean would get wind of this case, would follow through and wonder who had taken care of it. Or would he ignore it, too caught up in trying to find a way to save the world? Did he ever think about Sam? Was he trying to find him?</p>
<p>  The stench of blood was overpowering now. The green faded away into black. There was the faded sound of footsteps.</p>
<p>  Then everything was gone.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>  He woke to silence and a clown-covered wallpaper. The latter had him bolting upright with a strangled gasp, panic sending him into overdrive before his body caught up and he couldn’t hold back the groan of pain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Relax, Skywalker,” a familiar voice said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam looked up to find Meg lounging at the small table with a book.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “I’m kinda fond of that meatsuit of yours, don’t damage it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  He blinked at her, trying to reconcile the situation. “I was dead.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Bingo.” She turned a page, not even looking at him. “Lucifer brought you back and fixed the worst of it. You’d still lost a lot of blood so I brought you here and patched up the rest of you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  It was only then that Sam realized he was bare-chested. Taking a second to frown at the reddened gashed down his sternum, he drew the blanket higher, tucking it closely around himself. He was relieved to note that he was still in the same jeans, torn and bloodied though it was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Don’t worry, I was a good girl.” Meg winked at him over her book. “Didn’t touch anything I wanted to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam narrowed his eyes at her. He didn’t trust her, wasn’t foolish enough for that. But while Meg was a little too high up in Hell’s food chain for him to read her mind as easily as he could of other demons, he could still glean a few surface emotions. She wasn’t lying.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Thanks,” he said. “Mind filling me in on why? I was vulnerable, you could have done anything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Meg raised an eyebrow and rolled her eyes in the same second. “Tempting me?” She drawled. “It wasn’t out of the kindness of my heart, if you want to know. I just figure, since we’re going to work with each other, there should be some trust.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam nodded slowly. “So, that’s your choice? You’re gonna help me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Meg scowled. “You were right. Azazel wasn’t much of a Lucifer loyalist. He dreamed of ruling Hell from behind-the-scenes, with you on the throne. Besides,” she went on with a smile that could almost be sweet. “If you do try to double-cross me, I’ll drag you straight to Lucifer and tell him I was playing you the whole time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam couldn’t help the little laugh that escaped him. Meg was underestimating him, he realized. She thought she could take him down easily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Meg stared at him coolly. “What’s the joke?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam swung off the bed, grabbing a few random clothes from his duffel. “Just that you’re somehow more honest with me than anyone else has been these last few months.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Meg’s answering smile was all teeth. “Not all demons lie, baby.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>  “So, what’s the plan?” Meg asked as Sam emerged from his shower. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam shrugged.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Do you have a plan?” Meg asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Nothing concrete, yet,” Sam admitted. “I was kinda hoping you would know some way to beat him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Meg took a deep breath. “I’m a few hundreds of years old,” she told him flatly. “Lucifer was locked up way before my time. You’ll need an angel to get that sort of info. Specifically, an archangel.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam chewed his lip in thought. “According to Zachariah, Michael will only show when De- his vessel is ready. In any case, he wants the Apocalypse. He’s not gonna help us. Same goes for Raphael.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “You’re forgetting the fourth,” Meg reminded. “Gabriel. Wasn’t he…?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam shrugged. “None of the angels I’ve met so far have mentioned him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “Well, he can’t be dead. An Archangel getting killed would have been all over the news, we’d have known.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam closed his eyes, trying to recall Bobby’s lore book. “He had a weapon, didn’t he? The Horn of Gabriel?” He looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “What if we find it? Use it to summon him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Meg frowned. “Wouldn’t he have it? Or, ya know, Heaven?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam nodded. “We could figure out a way to steal it, then. Or we can try a summoning spell.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Meg laughed. “I vote for B&amp;E.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Sam rolled his eyes. “We’re not going to do it ourselves. We’re going to find someone who can do it for us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  She looked incredulous. “You think you can find someone crazy enough to break into Heaven’s armory for us?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “I know someone, yeah.” Sam smiled grimly. “He’s a Trickster.”</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>  Reggie Hargeeves was staring death in the face. Death in the form of Dean Winchester- cold and stern, promising pain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “One last time, Reggie,” Winchester coaxed. “Do you know where my brother is?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Reggie tried not to show his fear. “Not a damn clue, ya psycho. But I hope he’s lying dead in a ditch somewhere.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Winchester’s face flickered. It was rage, pure and simple. “Before you die,” he said, holding up a knife. “I want you to know: your friend Tim is dead too. And he’s the one who told me where to find you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Reggie’s world went blank.</span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>  “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hey, Ellen</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” a familiar voice spoke.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Ellen felt herself seize up with shock, before relaxing. “Dean,” she breathed out. “Boy, when I said to keep in touch, I didn’t-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ellen, please, I don’t have time.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  The broken inflection gave her pause and she stared at the phone to clarify it was Dean who’d called her. “What’s wrong?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ellen, Sam’s gone. He just… He left. And then he disappeared. I can’t… Nobody’s seen him.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” There was a sound that sounded like a muffled sob. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Have… Have you heard anything? Anything at all?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>  Ellen sighed, closing her eyes. Bobby had called her months ago to tell her the same thing, that Sam had vanished without a trace. “I can’t help you, Dean,” she said. “I’m sorry, kid, but the boy’s inherited your daddy’s mind. If he doesn’t want to be found… Then there’s nothing any of us can do.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So, where did you even get this spell from?” Meg asked, playing with the small hex bag.</p>
<p>  Sam shrugged. “Ruby.”</p>
<p>  Meg cast him a sly look from the driver's seat, eyes black under her thick lashes. “Was that before or after she’d turned you into her bitch?”</p>
<p>  Sam mildly entertained the thought of giving her a demonstration of his powers. “After.”</p>
<p>  “Mmm-hmm. And this will keep us hidden from all supernatural creepies?”</p>
<p>  “Yeah.”</p>
<p>  “Are you going to answer in one word to every question?” Meg demanded.</p>
<p>  Sam resisted a smirk. “Mmm-hmm.”</p>
<p>  Meg huffed, but there was amusement mixed in with the annoyance. “You better hope I don’t get tired of you shit, Winchester. Now… Where are we going?”</p>
<p>  Sam fished out a newspaper clipping from the glovebox and handed it to her.</p>
<p>  “Woman insists her husband was killed by… Hulk?” Meg frowned a bit. “You’re taking me on a case? If this is your idea of a first date-”</p>
<p>  Sam shook his head. “I read up on the vic’s background. He had a real bad temper- yelling, throwing things, the works. And he got killed by the angriest creature in fiction. It fits a Trickster’s MO.”</p>
<p>  “But how do we know if it’s the one we want and not just any run-of-the-mill creature?”</p>
<p>  “Lore says tricksters are usually just pranksters. They like to teach a lesson, but they’re not malevolent. But the guy we need? He’s the only one who kills.”</p>
<p>  Meg nodded. “Well, maybe you’re not completely helpless.”</p>
<p>  “Gee, thanks.” Sam leafed through the newspaper, tuning out Meg’s muttering. There was a potential case down in Minnesota. A spectre, by the looks of it. And… He frowned, focusing on the article. It was about two men found dead within two days of each other, in motel rooms in different states. Their contacts had been found on each other’s phone. They’d been brutally tortured before dying.</p>
<p>  Sam swallowed, heart hammering at the names in the article. Timothy and Reginald. Tim and Reggie.</p>
<p>  “Meg, stop at the next phone booth. I need to make a phone call.”</p>
<p>  What had Dean done?</p>
<hr/>
<p>  The last thing Bobby had been expecting was a call from Rufus Turner. “This better be good, you-”</p>
<p>
  <em>  “Tim and Reggie’ve been found dead.”</em>
</p>
<p>  Bobby paused in his pouring out of whiskey. “What?”</p>
<p>  “<em>Yeah, just got a call from ‘n’other hunter out there. Thought it must’a been a creature, but he says it was a human’s work.</em>” Rufus sounded gruff, like he always did, but there was a note of warning. “<em>Said it was done by an expert. Don’t suppose you got any ideas who’d have a grudge against those two and the skill to do something like that?</em>”</p>
<p>  Bobby took a deep breath. “I’ll look into it,” he replied evenly.</p>
<p>  Rufus hummed. “<em>Got a call from the prodigal Winchester</em>.”</p>
<p>  Bobby straightened. “Sam? What happened, what did he say? Is he alright?”</p>
<p>  “<em>Said he got a message for his brother</em>,” Rufus replied. “<em>Said to tell him that no one knows where he is, and there ain’t no point in looking for him, or by asking around. And that he's okay, so don’t go feeling guilty or responsible for him.</em>”</p>
<p>  Bobby could barely muster up a reply before he was slamming the phone down. He took a deep drink of his whiskey, barely feeling the burn of it. Then he picked up his phone and called another number.</p>
<hr/>
<p>  Dean should have been getting drunk. Instead he was in his motel room, staring blankly at the woman lying naked beside him, asleep and exhausted. </p>
<p>  He knew he'd been rough with her, something he hardly ever was with women, and the he could see the evidence of it littered across her skin in the shape of his fingers and teeth. But he couldn't muster up any guilt. And it's not like she'd complained, going by the way she'd clutched him tighter to herself and left deep red scratches down his back. </p>
<p>  Dean stayed on his side, propped up on his palm, and watched her. She was beautiful, in a delicate way, very unlike the bold and self-assured women he usually went for. No, this one had been on the shy side, blushing sweetly when he'd approached her earlier. He traced his finger across her shoulder, glad for the momentary distraction from the dark quicksand of his thoughts. </p>
<p>  So, of course, his phone rang. </p>
<p>  He jumped to answer it, partly because he didn't want to wake the girl, partly because even after all this time, he couldn't stop hoping it would be Sam's name on the screen. </p>
<p>  It wasn't. </p>
<p>  "What do you want, Bobby?"</p>
<p>  "<em>Tell me you didn't do something stupid</em>."</p>
<p>  Dean thought about the two bodies- very human bodies- he'd left in his wake. "Why do you ask?"</p>
<p>  "<em>Tim and Reggie were found dead and tortured</em>," the grizzled hunter snapped. "<em>But I don't suppose you've got anything to do with that?</em>"</p>
<p>  "Of course not," Dean muttered. </p>
<p>  There was a clear pause. "<em>Rufus got a call from Sam</em>."</p>
<p>  Hearing the name was like being dunked in ice-cold water. Dean could hear his own heartbeat, his blood, as he tried to focus. "What did he say?"</p>
<p>  Bobby sighed. "<em>Said he knows what you did. And you should stop. Because it ain't gonna help you find him</em>."</p>
<p>  Dean closed his eyes. "When will he come back, Bobby?" He asked, hating how weak and child-like he sounded. </p>
<p>  Bobby's silence spoke volumes and he ended the call before he broke down. </p>
<p>  He looked back at the woman. Took in the smooth skin of her tanned throat, the pointed chin, the mole right above it, the perfect Cupid's bow of her bite-pink lips and the tip-tilted eyes that were gently closed now… </p>
<p>  Dean choked on his own breath, the similarity hitting him hard. Struggling to breath, he raked his eyes over her form, trying vainly to dispel the thought. </p>
<p>  He shifted closer to her, breathing her in, trying to focus on the distinctively feminine perfume. <em>Not Sam not Sam not Sam</em>, he told himself. </p>
<p>  Because it wasn't enough that he'd lost Sam and had no idea how to get him back. He also had to go out and find a woman to sleep with who might as well have been Sam's twin. It was like all his fucked up desires and fantasies from years ago had rushed to the surface, washing over him like a tidal wave and leaving him broken and useless. </p>
<p>  Dean bit back a sob. In his mind's eye, he could see Sam's delicate frown, the disapproval clear in his eyes. <em>That's not fair,</em> <em>Dean</em>, imaginary-Sam admonished.<em> I gave you the chance. You pushed me away. </em></p>
<p>  <em>I'm sorry!</em> Dean cried himself to sleep that night. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>  Now, in all technicality, he should have known better. He should have known that if there was anyone in the world who could figure out a way to trap him, Archangel or Trickster, it would be the same man who had once spent six months in a pocket dimension hunting him down with a dogged determination only to bring back an already doomed brother.</p>
<p>  As it was, Gabriel couldn't help the dash of amused annoyance as he stared at the human and the demon. Odd combo, but eh. Who was he to judge?</p>
<p>  “Come on, Sam,” he laughed. “I thought we’d let bygones be bygones.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Unless this is about this whole TV thing, because, come on, learn to take a joke. You need to loosen up.”</p>
<p>  Sam glared at him. “Why didn’t the stake work on you?” He demanded. “And why are you so intent on having an Apocalypse? We’ve got our guesses, but you might like the chance to fess up on your own.”</p>
<p>  Gabriel refused to grit his teeth as he glanced at the ring of holy fire. “You should have known the stake wouldn’t work on me. It didn't the last two times.”</p>
<p>  The demon- Meg, he believed- looked annoyed. She rolled her eyes up at Sam, which, frankly, looked a little ridiculous, since she barely reached his shoulders. “You’ve already tried to kill him twice before?” She asked. “And you still thought we should go with the stake?”</p>
<p>  Sam looked slightly embarrassed. “Well-”</p>
<p>  “Gee, Sam, if the thing that’s supposed to kill a Trickster doesn’t kill him, then shouldn’t it have occurred to you earlier that, just maybe, he isn’t actually a Trickster?”</p>
<p>  “Meg!” Sam exclaimed. “Could we do this later?”</p>
<p>  “Well, look at that,” Gabriel spoke dryly. “Baby Winchester having a domestic with someone who isn’t his brother. How’s Dean doing, Sam?”</p>
<p>  Sure enough, Sam stiffened. “I don’t know,” he said stiffly. “How are Michael and Lucifer doing?”</p>
<p>  Gabriel glared.</p>
<p>  Sam refused to budge, eyes cold as he met the gaze.</p>
<p>  “Gabriel,” he finally said. “I’m Gabriel.”</p>
<p>  Sam relaxed. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I figured.” He looked contrite now, and calmer. “Look, you know what we’re here to ask you.”</p>
<p>  Gabriel tilted his head in thought, looking at Meg. “Why the hell are <em>you</em> with <em>him</em>?” He asked her. “Shouldn’t you be rooting for your precious <em>Prince of Lies</em>?”</p>
<p>  Meg shrugged. “This one’s more convincing.”</p>
<p>  He scoffed. “A silver tongue to match my little brother’s? I doubt that.”</p>
<p>  “Look, this isn’t the time to debate,” Sam said, sounding exasperated. “Gabriel… We need your help.”</p>
<p>  “To do what?” Gabriel demanded. “Put a stopper in the Apocalypse? It’s just Friday night dinner for me! Why the hell should I bother with any of it?”</p>
<p>  “Because they’re your family!” Sam half-yelled.</p>
<p>  “<em>Family</em>- right.” Gabriel’s laugh was full of thousands of years of bitterness. “Two brothers who loved each other more than anything but still betrayed each other. The Father who was supposed to be the ultimate protector abandoned us. An entire Heaven-full of angels who have never even seen their Creator… Don’t preach about family to me, Sam.”</p>
<p>  “But you still love them,” Sam insisted.</p>
<p>  “Wrong. I don’t care.”</p>
<p>  “Then why are you getting so worked up?”</p>
<p>  Gabriel grit his teeth and looked away. Yeah. This kid was Lucifer’s vessel, alright. “I just want it to be over.”</p>
<p>  “That’s what we want,” Meg spoke up. “If Michael and Lucifer fight, they’re going to end up destroying the world along with each other. Try to weigh that against your conscience.”</p>
<p>  Gabriel sighed. He looked up at the sky, a prayer on his lips that he stalled immediately. “You can’t kill Lucifer,” he said quietly. “Only Michael has the power to match him in a battle.”</p>
<p>  Sam cursed.</p>
<p>  “But,” he interrupted. “You can trap him in the Cage again.”</p>
<p>  Meg tensed. “The original Cage? Where he was before all this began?”</p>
<p>  “Yeah.” Gabriel nodded. “It’s actually pretty simple. In theory.”</p>
<p>  “What do we need?”</p>
<p>  “The rings of the Horsemen. All four of them.”</p>
<p>  Sam was slowly nodding. “War, back when we fought him at River Pass, had a ring. We took it off him.”</p>
<p>  “Quarter of the job done, then,” Meg announced. “Where is it?”</p>
<p>  Sam hesitated. “With Dean.”</p>
<p>  Meg closed her eyes. “Dean,” she said flatly. “The brother you are no longer on speaking terms with? That Dean?”</p>
<p>  “Yeah.”</p>
<p>  “Of course.”</p>
<p>  “Um, hello?” Gabriel waved his hand. “Maybe get me out of this? The heat messes with my complexion.”</p>
<p>  Sam rolled his eyes. Meg snapped her fingers and the fire died down.</p>
<p>  Gabriel stepped well out of the way of the circle. “Well, my job here is done. The rest is up to you.” He paused for a second, though every instinct he had was telling him to run. But he looked at Sam. “Go back to your brother, Sam,” he suggested. “What you’re planning to do… It’s already hard. It’ll be impossible without him. You need him.”</p>
<p>  Sam stood still for a few seconds, then gave a thin smile. “Maybe. But he doesn’t need me. I’ll only slow him down.”</p>
<p>  Gabriel sighed. “And thus, history repeats itself,” he whispered, too low for them to hear him, and disappeared.</p>
<hr/>
<p>  The cashier was taking way too long to bill him. Dean gazed idly around the store. He felt twitchy, like there was someone watching him. But there were no cold spots, no sulphuric scent, and no preachers nearby who could rat him out to Zach. </p>
<p>  Maybe he was getting paranoid.</p>
<p>  He glanced outside then, where he’d parked the Impala and- his heart froze.</p>
<p>  There was a woman jimmying open the window of the shotgun seat, rummaging inside. A woman with long black curls and fair skin.</p>
<p>  “Hey!” Dean yelled, swift anger taking over as he ran out, demon blade in his hand.</p>
<p>  Meg Masters turned, gave him a wink and a wiggle of her fingers, and promptly disappeared.</p>
<hr/>
<p>  Sam sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair. His other hand was flat on his knee, the red stone of War’s ring glistening in the gloomy darkness of the motel room.</p>
<p>  “I can’t believe you guys keep important stuff like this in the glovebox, of all places,” Meg was saying from the other bed, derision dripping from the words. </p>
<p>  “There’s a Devil’s Trap on it,” Sam murmured. </p>
<p>  “Yeah, I know, I had to pick it open the human way,” she scoffed. “But, hello? A human could get to it?”</p>
<p>  Sam sighed, looking up at her. "What did- Did Dean look okay?"</p>
<p>  Meg pursed her lips. She looked at him with some contemplation, like she wasn't sure what to tell him. Then, to his surprise, she gave a look that was almost apologetic. "Not good. He looks like Death warmed over."</p>
<p>  Sam closed his eyes, rubbing them. What should he do? Call Dean? Ask to work together again? </p>
<p>  But what if it wasn't really that Dean missed him? What if it was just stress or something? </p>
<p>  "Sam," Meg said. 'Maybe the douchey Archangel was right. Maybe… You should get back together with Dean."</p>
<p>  And, to be honest, hearing Meg say it out loud just confirmed Sam's thoughts: it was a stupid idea. </p>
<p>  "No," he said firmly. "No, I can't drag Dean down with me again. I'm not of any use to him…" He shook his head. "He's just lonely and feeling hopeless. He'll be fine as soon as he visits Bobby or Cas gives him some good news. He'll be fine then." <em>He has to be.</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>My Tumblr: kassyscarlett</p></blockquote></div></div>
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